July 5th
by hoshiko2kokoro
Summary: America's Fourth of July may be a day of celebration, but what of the very next day?


_July 5__th__, 1784_

America awoke with a spring to his step, a song in his heart, and a bright smile on his face. It was the day after his birthday, and while that in itself wasn't something to really celebrate as that was reserved for the actual day of, it was better this year as he was no longer at war. The Revolutionary War had ended the previous September after having dragged on for either grueling years; most of which America still felt in his young bones. However, with each sunrise he felt his people recovering from the after math, and slowly his strength was returning.

Yesterday had been the actual ceremony of celebration for the new nation. While the people didn't really have much of a celebration, the soldiers that had fought alongside America came to visit and congratulate him. Originally America wanted to invite only France and Prussia to his celebration, but France was too haggard from the war, and Prussia declined, mentioning something about the humid weather. That didn't stop America from enjoying a party with the people that mattered the most to him-his citizens.

It was nearing noon and America was slow to rise. He had stayed up late drinking until almost sunrise. Many of the farmers nearby were already awake by the time America made it to his bed. He washed his face at the basin near the window, looking outside as he towel-dried off. The colors of the effervescent blue and the rolling green hills engulfed America with pride and strength and passion.

I can do this, he thought. I can live alone and raise myself right, teach my citizens and be taught by them that we're strong.

But it was days like this he'd try to escape his daily lessons to frolic outside. When his temper was right, England might even join him. They'd roll and tumble in the grass until they were called back inside for a hot supper and relaxing baths. America used to call those the good ol' days, but now it was tainted by a cruel feeling that started to seize his entire body.

He hadn't thought of such times in years. War hadn't allowed him to.

A slight chill went down his spine. The memories had been lathered in a bittersweet syrup that stuck to every piece of America's mind. Remembering England now brought a sudden heavy weight to his body and he felt lethargic, losing all of his earlier momentum. He shook his head to clear his mind, but when the memories faded away they left behind a void of loneliness.

That was the day he was realized he was in this, and he was in this all alone. England could never come back.

_July 5__th__ 1791_

"Independence Day?" America repeated. His friend nodded enthusiastically.

"What do you think? I think that sounds better than what we had before," he said.

America thought back on the names his birthday had been called. It never had a real set title. Some called it Declaration Day and others referred to it as just an American Holiday. But it had a nice ring to it. "I like it!"

His friend slapped his shoulder and offered a beer. This time, America hadn't felt the same nervous emotion whittling away at his resolve. He decided he'd continue his celebration for the rest of the week. It felt good.

But hearing "independence" said told him one thing- England wasn't here. He was alone.

_July 5__th__ 1800_

The start of a new century.

America had never felt so strong before. He was embracing all that his people had offered him, the advantages of being an industrial leader. Someone that other nations took stock of. Where he had been shunned, and in return shunned them, he was now taking precedent as someone to marvel at. And it was all from his people.

But now, a new generation was starting to emerge. The patriots of the past were starting to die now, and those young enough to remember the war were growing old. Strong as he was, America still realized now more than ever that he was alone.

He had already lost so many of his friends.

_July 5__th__ 1826_

America looked at his hands, tears slipping onto his skin. He had lost them both, only hours apart from each other. His dear friends.

And now he had no one he could go to. Who knew that only twelve short years after the start of the century, England would be back? But he came with revenge.

There wasn't a soul America could talk to. He was so very alone.

_July 5__th__ 1922_

It wasn't noon, but it was later than America would normally have woken up. That familiar feeling in his gut was ebbing away.

England came yesterday. For all of five minutes, but he was there.

_July 5__th__ 1944_

America looked up from his paperwork when he saw a shadow block out the light from his lamp. He was sitting in his office, finishing up the last of his report to send back home to HQ. Time must have slipped away from him because when he looked up he saw the light from outside was long gone. It was night now, though how late he wasn't sure.

England stood before his desk with a bottle of scotch in his hand. He wasn't smiling, but there was a light to his eyes.

America eyed the bottle warily. "Where'd you get that?"

"I have my ways," England replied. He went to America's locker behind his desk, pulled out the bottom drawer, and lifted up two shot glasses. HE placed them on the table and opened up the beer. "You work too late on your birthday."

America grinned. "That was yesterday."

"Yes, but you didn't stop for a moment to celebrate it with your boys." England handed over one of the glasses, but he didn't pour himself a drink.

America shrugged, taking the glass. "I'll celebrate when this war's over." He looked at England's unfilled glass. "Want me to top you off?"

England shook his head. "I'm not drinking to your birthday."

America's lips quirked up in amusement. He tipped his head back and drank the alcohol, savoring its burning taste that awoke his senses and reminded him he was alive. "Figured as much. Well, let's drink to my un-birthday."

He hesitated, but then England poured America another shot. This time, however, he filled his own glass. They clinked their drinks together and drank.

_July 5__th__ 1976_

America touched the bell, still unable to see it sitting there before him. It wasn't cracked. It wasn't historical, not yet. It was just brilliant and perfect, and so very, very English. He was to hang the gift England had presented him in the bell tower near Independence Hall. And for the first time in years, America thought he could do this.

He wasn't alone.

_July 5__th__ 2002_

America wanted to celebrate. Wanted to dance and wallop in joy, joining his citizens as they had their fun and rejoiced his birthday, but this year, he couldn't. The hole in his heart was still too fresh and too raw. He saw on television as hundreds of thousands of citizens stood outside of the White House, candles in their hands, tears on their faces, and prayed and sang together. He had recorded everything from the night before, but it did little to roust back any of his happiness. Yesterday had been painful enough as it was. Today was even worse.

There was a knock on his door, and he got up to answer. And suddenly his day was just that much better when arms enveloped him and held him close to a warm chest with a beating heart, and familiar hands stroked his head, down his neck, and along his back in a soothing motion that only one man could know how to do.

"It hurts," America sobbed before clinging to England.

"I know…," he replied

_July 5__th__ 20xx_

Things were different now. America felt relaxed. He sank into the pillows with a smile on his face. Last night he'd partied like he was young again. And England had come.

England was still here. He'd spend the night, and they made love for hours with England calling his name and America whispering his adoration. It was something from his movies, a Hollywood ending. It had to be. Because this just didn't happen to him.

And yet, England was waking up beside him. He felt warm and soft, snuggling up against his wide and whispering, "Good morning, love."

Somehow it had happened.

America crushed England in his arms, earning a laugh from the other nation. He kissed all over England's face quickly, ending with one final, long kiss on the lips.

"My goodness!" England breathed. He laughed, pushing America off of him to allow for some room, and then tried to fix his disheveled self. "What ever was that for, darling? Are you still as raring to go as you were last night?"

America rolled onto his back with a hand to his face, covering his eyes, but showing his smile for all to see. "Last night I was in a void. I only thought of my birthday, but damn do I hate the fifth…"

England blinked once, confused. This was news to him. "The fifth? Why?"

"Because…it always was the low after the high." America removed his hand, but continued to stare at the ceiling. His voice was low and his distant eyes proved to be a rare moment indeed. "It was a constant reminder you were gone and I was alone… And I could never get you back again."

England put a hand on America's arm. He nodded, looking down as if in understanding. "I hate September fourth."

"Why?" America chanced a glance over. England was looking at the bed sheets as he clenched them, his eyes quickly watering.

"Because that was the last day… The day France took you away from me… And when that rotten treaty was signed. You were officially gone then…"

America frowned and reached over to brush at England's cheek, just under his eye to catch the stray tear that slipped free. Then, he sat up and pulled England into his chest.

"Why did we waste so much time alone?" he asked quietly.

"Because we needed time to heal," England replied just as softly. "So that we may spend the rest of our time together."

America smiled at this. He turned his head to rest it against the top of England's and watched years long past resurface before him. There had been so many dark nights leading to grey mornings that only clouded his vision until he could find solace in a distraction. So many fourths that were full of splendid parties and glorious moments had been covered in the depression of the impending fifth.

But now…

* * *

_Hoshiko2_'s cents: Happy birthday 236th America! And happy 4th of July to my fellow Americans!

Some notes!  
The American Revolutionary War didn't officially end until September 1783 with the signing of the Treaty of Paris sealed the deal. It would take a few more years until the country itself actually became a full fledged working country.

The first year the Fourth of July was called Independence Day was in 1791.

On the 50th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence in 1826, both John Adams and Thomas Jefferson died, only hours apart.

In 1976, Queen Elizabeth II came to Philadelphia and presented the American citizens with the Bicentennial Bell to commemorate America's 200th Independence Day. It currently sits in the modern day bell tower just a few feet away from Independence Hall.

July 4th, 2002 had to have been the absolute most emotional Independence Day ever as many people were still shaken from 9/11, 2001. But England had been extremely comforting during that time, even playing the American National Anthem outside of the palace on the day of the attacks to soothe all Americans stuck in England because of the planes being forced to land.


End file.
